Coccum Crystallis
by Myst Knight
Summary: Alma's first day at the Peristerium School of Magic has arrived, but Ramza just can't let his beloved sister go into danger without a firm big brother lecture, and a reminder on how much he loves her. Ramza/Alma WAFF.
1. Coccum Crystallis

**Coccum Crystallis **

**A Final Fantasy Tactics Fanfiction by Myst Knight **

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><p>Disclaimer: Final Fantasy TacticsFinal Fantasy Type-0 are owned by Square Enix. I write this without consent, and am making no money off of them.

_This story is rated M for adult themes, and some ecchi scenes. _

WARNING: This story pairs up Ramza and Alma Beoulve in a romantic way. It's a murky affair, so please respect the rating and don't read if you're under 18. Of course you shouldn't try this at home, as real incest is more than likely going to be a needless disaster. Remember, it's just a story.

Apologies in advance to anyone who feels their religion was somehow insulted; my story merely reflects upon the false teachings of Ajora, and not any real world faith. Now, on with the show!

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><p>It was just a matter of school supplies.<p>

This is what Ramza Beoulve told himself as he followed his sister Alma through the stone cityscape towards the Peristerium School of Magic. The buildings dwarfing the youthful pair were monolithic and vaguely gothic in architecture, and the glistening sun gave them a certain elegance that was nigh unheard of back in their raw, war-torn home of Ivalice. Here in the land of Orience, it was easy to imagine they were just talking about a schoolgirl's books and bags. Truthfully, they were talking about which weapon would bring down a Bomb in the shortest amount of time.

"Brother, I was thinking I might like to handle a broad sword," Alma stated conversely as she strode up to the walkway to avoid a passing carriage. "The lords of our house bore them throughout the Fifty Years War, and I would like to honor our tradition."

"Alma, are you sure you can even lift such a heavy weapon?" Ramza asked with genuine curiosity, his eyes coasting over her slender physique and cream complexion. "They're a lot heavier than I make them look." The scabbard bearing his own sword, Chaos Blade, jostled on his back with his footfalls, as if agreeing with his assertion.

Alma was not deterred. "Even a female squire can handle a broad sword," the girl rejoined, hugging her registration papers close to her chest as the wind picked up throughout the canyon of storefronts. "I'm sure I'll be fine to use one."

Ramza refrained from comment, and merely looked the girl over. Alma was currently clad in the uniform of her new school: a black, button-up coat with golden shoulder pauldrons, a short red cloak, and a plaid skirt reaching to mid thigh. Her skirt was wafting in the brisk breeze, and she had to periodically pat it down to keep it from flipping upwards. He would never belittle his beloved sister, but his vision of her always defaulted to a gentle, lovely lady rather than the more militaristic motif of his comrades Agrias and Meliadoul.

"Alma, you've been given a great opportunity, as both of us have been." Ramza tried a different tact, refraining from adding his trademark authoritarian inflection. "I don't want to see you waste time on one area of warfare when you're better suited for another."

"Our father and mother gave me the same rearing as you," she pointed out, adding a shake of her finger for emphasis. "You're the best swordsman I know, even without Holy Sword training, so how could I do any less?"

"Nice to see the Beoulve stubbornness lives on in our family," he mumbled, and Alma giggled at his sulking.

At nineteen, Alma was posing as a student of the Peristerium School of Magic under the name "Alma Ruglia", with Ramza standing in place as an older boyfriend who had graduated from another academy as a blacksmith. It was a suitable cover; Alma could still pass for a school-aged lass, and her sweet-natured disposition allowed her to fit in almost anywhere, as long as there was a certain amount of class present. In addition, Ramza and Alma's sibling relationship had become romantic after years of bonding over the war in the now distant country of Ivalice. In this foreign land, the pretense of boyfriend and girlfriend allowed them to express affection openly, without public censure.

Ramza and Alma had just arrived at the steps leading up to the campus, along with a group of students coming up from behind. With a twinge of protectiveness, Ramza noted the male half of the student body's appreciation for the pretty, ponytailed girl, their eyes coasting over her graceful form in a manner that resembled leers. Obviously sensing her predicament, Alma held her skirt against her buttocks with her free hand so that the bolder of the boys wouldn't be able to see anything. Ramza covered up an amused laugh; even having only worn the uniform for a day, Alma had adapted to the skirt with the pure, feminine modesty that defined her.

He took a brief breath before speaking again. "Alma, I just want everything to work out right for us," Ramza admitted, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Mustadio worked hard to make this happen, and I don't want to squander a favor from him."

"Mustadio's been a real brick, hasn't he," Alma mentioned as an aside, smiling at the young man. "I still can't believe he accepted our relationship so easily."

"He's always been an atheist, so he didn't have the same hang-ups as those that followed the church," he explained, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be lecturing her. "He's actually knee-deep helping with Agrias' spiritual crisis since we last met."

"I think he just wanted my handsome brother out of the way so he could court Agrias," Alma teased, her warm eyes flashing with mirth. "You're a rival to him, you know."

"Well, he's ridiculous if he thinks that," the young man grunted, an image of the loudmouthed inventor coming unbidden to his thoughts.

It was the Bunanza family's dimensional warp device that made it possible for Ramza and Alma to truly leave behind their ruined country, after finally fixing it in order to return the foreign soldier Cloud Strife to his homeland. Each surviving member of Ramza's army had left Ivalice using this ancient machine, chasing their own ghosts and looking for new lives. Agrias had chosen to embark on a spiritual journey throughout the space time continuum, her initial faith shattered by the truth about Ajora and the death of Ovelia. Mustadio had chosen to accompany her, which left only the Beoulve siblings to choose their final destination, eventually deciding on Orience.

Ramza and Alma finally reached the top of the steps, their pace slowing as they crossed the crowded school courtyard. Both of them stared transfixed at the towering, almost religious main hall, as if they were lawn ornaments in a Colosseum. Ramza observed his sister's nervousness; he could see the small lump in her throat she was trying to force down. She brushed her ponytail behind her back from where it had landed on her shoulder, her hand then drifting down to the nape of her neck.

"You'll do fine, Alma." Ramza broke into her contemplation before she got too lost within herself. He placed a gentle hand on her forearm, silently marveling at her soft skin even through the material of here coat.

Alma smiled warmly at him, and then faced down the building with confidence, her bow and ponytail flying behind her like a sparkling comet trail. She cleared her throat with a exaggerated bluff of finality and set off towards the entrance. "I'm going in to register my room now, Ramza," she announced as she adjusted the papers in her grip to look more studious. "We'll meet up for a date once you're done with your work at the smithy."

"I already told you I'm staying here until you get settled in your dorm," he reminded her quickly before she got too far away. "I still have to take care of you, Alma."

Apparently, she had forgotten about this. "What?" Alma turned on him with a swish of her ponytail, her mouth open in disbelief. "Ramza, I thought you were going to stop babying me!" she harrumphed, putting her hands on her hips.

Ramza was taken aback at her impish ire. "I am, but I'm always going to follow you no matter what path you choose," he tried to explain, already feeling himself falter at his sister's angry look. "You're my own flesh and blood, Alma."

Alma just frowned at him, a tic appearing in the corner of her eye.

Sensing she wasn't going to let this go, he looked for a distraction to lighten the mood...and found one after a fashion as a flash of flowing cloth caught his gaze. "Besides, you'll always need me to protect your honor," Ramza said, looking down at her legs.

The girl followed his gaze, and soon realized her pleated skirt was fluttering up in the wind high enough to reveal the edge of her white briefs. "Aah!" Alma gasped, quickly slapping her skirt back down. "Ramza!" she protested, her cheeks tinted pink.

Although a little embarrassed himself at the glimse he had gotten of Alma's body, Ramza merely reached into his satchel in response to her admonishing. Whipping out a small, shining object, he knelt down and reached toward her thigh, ruffling her skirt a bit as he did so. With his sister's blush deepening at the intimate contact, he quickly tied the object to her thigh: a black garter belt made of fine leather. A small knife was secured to the belt, gleaming as if under enchantment.

"An old heirloom of our mother's," Ramza explained, as Alma blinked down at him in astonishment. "She always wanted you to have this."

Alma looked down at her leg, her blush disappearing as she smiled at the gift her love had christened on her. The dagger was thin and elegant, with a gold finish and the white lion of the Hokuten Knights branded on its hilt.

"You always had Mother's brave soul, and she knew this," the young fighter told her, standing up and smiling. "Though I know I badger you, I believe in you as much as she did."

"Thank you, Ramza," Alma said, her glowing blush now returning as shy pride.

"Don't ever change." he continued. "Your brother is always proud of you."

"Ramza..." she hissed, a small scowl on her face that reminded Ramza even more of his mother.

"And your boyfriend as well," he amended, averting his gaze as his own blush started to form.

Alma smiled, ignoring his bashfulness as she pressed her lithe body against his. "I love you, Ramza," she sighed, tilting her head and wrapping her arms around his neck. Ramza stiffened reflexively, but soon relaxed as his hand found her soft cheek, her stray golden locks interlacing with his fingers. Wrapping his other arm around her back, he pulled her close as his lips found hers in a warm kiss.

They remained like this for nearly half a minute, with Ramza tilting Alma's chin to make their kiss less awkward. He could feel the girl press her knee against him as she lifted her leg; she was molded against him like clay. Before they knew it, the attractive couple had earned a wolf whistle from a group of students stopping to watch the show. Alma broke the kiss with her boyfriend and then smiled bashfully, like she had just gotten a ring from the top jock.

After they separated, the two of them continued on towards the double doors, with Alma keeping a firmer grip on her skirt this time around. Ramza helped her with the skirt as well, holding down the back as she held the front. Once they were under the entryway, the boy let go as Alma continued on ahead. Her step was light, but engrained with the steady confidence of a young woman who knew she had everything going for her.

As she strode through the double doors, she cast one more look at her brother. "Ramza, I think I'll become a Magic Swordsman," she declared, a twinkle in her eye as she winked at him. "My Cleric training should help me with this."

With that, she joined the mass of students meeting for orientation. In spite of himself, Ramza continued to follow her with his eyes, but she had already disappeared within the sea of coal coats and blood cloaks.

He sighed as he looked away from the building, watching a group of clouds meander across the sky. Soon, Alma would embark on the same journey he had gone on all those years ago, learning how to both fight against injustice and protect herself from it. He would always be there to her, but she had broken free of her crystal cocoon, and now Ramza could only walk with her.

It was just a matter of school supplies, but those items would soon enable Alma to become the heroine he always knew she would be.

'Fin'

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><p>Notes: This fic will probably be updated as new information about the upcoming Final Fantasy Type-0 trickles out. At heart, this story is basically a High School AU, but the somewhat sketchy nature of all the different Final Fantasies and how they relate to each other makes this story somewhat plausible within the FFT canon.<p>

Again, this fic is based on the original translation for PSX Final Fantasy Tactics, though I tossed in the Mustadio/Agrias stuff from the PSP version since it seemed to fit with what I was trying to do. Truthfully, while though I loathe the PSP translation, my writing actually defaults to a pseudo-British tone whenever I do FFT. Is it purple prose, like the PSP script, or just prose with a slight tinge of pink? Of course, I had to go with the whole Latin title thing; Fabula Nova Crystallis may not be all that it's cracked up to be, but man, what a cool name.


	2. Remnants

**Coccum Crystallis - Remnants**

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><p>He supposed he should've knocked.<p>

But Alma really might've been more aware after living with him for three months on. Ramza always respected a locked door, but gave no thought to a cracked one, as they shared their lives like they shared the tea kettle. His thought was merely to hurry her up before class started at her combat training academy, but a flash of white lace and a high-pitched scream ended that notion like a lance to the head. "Ramza, get out!" the girl cried, covering her chest as she shut the door, astoundingly, by thrusting a leg towards it at an angle resembling a gymnast.

Ramza stood frustrated against the wall of the small kitchenette, crossing his arms and bemoaning his issues with women, the last frontier in his search for truth. He questioned why Alma was bashful of her brassiere after more than three months of close, intimate contact with him. The truth was, they had just begun a romantic relationship, sending convention and propriety to the winds, at least as far as their homeland of Ivalice was concerned. Yet when the breeze blew through the city streets, his sister instinctively held her skirt down before him, perhaps preserving the last remnants of her sisterly role just as she preserved her modesty.

A minute more passed, and Alma emerged carefully from the room, securing the last buttons on her school uniform coat. She looked down at her plaid skirt as if blaming the garment for her vulnerability, a notion made all the more clear when she pulled it down further to cover her legs. "I'm decent now, brother," she murmured, peering furtively at him though her lashes.

Ramza sighed, uncrossing his arms to appear less hostile. "I'm sorry, Alma," he told her, moving a little closer. "I didn't wish to shame you."

"It's alright." Alma raised her head, revealing pink-tinted cheeks that brought out the paleness of her skin. "You were just checking on me."

"And as your brother, you know you can trust me to do so," he cut in, trying not to make his statement sound too much like a lecture. "You're my beloved sister, and I would not seek to press any advantage with you."

Alma nodded as she scuffed a shoe against the wood floor of their apartment.

To relieve the mounting tension, the young man took the opportunity to address the central issue. "After all, if it's just me..."

"It's no longer the same," she interrupted, shaking her head and sending her ponytail flopping about.

"Eh?" Ramza put his fists on his hips, wondering where she was going with this. "Aren't we close as ever? I don't understand your point."

"Ramza, it's true," she insisted, her arms falling to her sides. "You have become so much more these past few months. Can you not see it?"

"Yes, we have become...closer." Ramza fumbled with the best way to describe their budding attraction. "Surely that means you would become more comfortable with me rather than less."

"Oh, Ramza!" she huffed in frustration, turning her back on him with a flurry of her skirt. "You just don't understand a girl's heart.

Ramza stepped back, astonished at this accusation. "A-Alma...!"

As if embarrassed of her prior outburst, the girl relaxed her posture with a sigh. "It's been nary a month since we sought to be as man and woman," she began, looking towards Ramza's old blue armor hanging over their bed. "In our homeland, we saw each other only thrice a year, if that, and then it was as brother and sister."

Through Ramza still faced the back of her head, he could almost feel the blush coming to her face. "Now, your eyes are on me every day, seeing through me," Alma continued, her voice growing quieter, yet heavier. "It's everything I wished for, but startling too."

Ramza regarded her form for a moment more, and thought he understood. Alma wanted her brother to see her as a woman, but was scared at how quickly the prospect was becoming a reality. Infrequent, chaste meetings with Ramza were the norm in Ivalice; now, they shared the same bed with naught but nightclothes between them. They had not slept together yet, and it was instinct for Alma to preserve her last vestiges of womanhood from the man she now knew he was.

With one recourse available, Ramza walked over to his sister and soulmate, turning her around to face him. "I'll take care of you, Alma," he soothed her, rubbing her shoulders through her coat. "In all ways."

She closed her eyes, her skin pricking at his touch. "Ramza..." Unflinchingly, she raised her eyes to meet his, and a slow smile emerged from her trepidation. The young man smiled in turn, stroking his hands along her arms in a manner that was familial, yet fantastic.

As Ramza moved closer, the chime of the kit-cat wall clock sounded from the left of the stove top. Alma's eyes fluttered open, her hand flying to her collar. "Oh Ramza, you were right all along!" she cried, all her troubles forgotten as she grabbed the knapsack on the table. "Let's hurry!"

"You're ready, right?" Ramza asked, although he already trusted her to be so.

Alma grabbed the training sword issued by her dueling instructor. "Take me there, Ramza?" she implored him, securing the blade to her back.

And so it went as Ramza readied his motorbike, an interesting bit of technology that was quite foreign to their homeland. As Alma swung a leg over the saddle behind him, Ramza provided her with the only helmet, which she placed over her head with her ponytail sticking out. Kicking the ignition into gear, the bike was soon rumbling with barely contained eagerness, sending a wave of exhaust billowing along the sidewalk. With Alma's arms around his torso, Ramza rushed out onto the road, zooming ahead through the traffic to make up for lost time.

As he turned the corner leading to the school, Ramza heard a small gasp from behind, and he took a quick look to see if Alma was secure. He was surprised to find her flushed and quite distressed, holding down the back of her skirt as it fluttered haphazardly in the rushing wind. Immediately, Ramza loosened his grip on the throttle, allowing his sister to get a better hold on her skirt and tuck it under her haunches. Once Alma had readjusted herself, she smiled gratefully at him, tightening her embrace once more.

Brother or no, it was Ramza's job to defend Alma's honor, come what way. To that end, the remnants of an earlier time mattered not, for it was all the same for a man who would forever be the knight in his sister's life.


End file.
